


and there you'd be, shining brightly

by PUNK_MENACE



Series: lemon boy and me (we just gotta get along together) [5]
Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Anxiety, Catharsis, Crying, Denial, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Whump, F/F, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Guilt, Headaches, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Self-Esteem Issues, Survivor Guilt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, hurt!Cloud, rated for heavy topics/cloud's terrible self-esteem, yay!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24551167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PUNK_MENACE/pseuds/PUNK_MENACE
Summary: "Cloud strives for perfection. But he is an imperfect, wretched being."Cloud has been lost for a long time. He needs someone to show him the way, but how are they supposed to do that if he doesn't want to be saved?It's a good thing Aerith won't take no for an answer.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough & Cloud Strife, Aerith Gainsborough & Tifa Lockhart & Cloud Strife, Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart
Series: lemon boy and me (we just gotta get along together) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735219
Comments: 22
Kudos: 207





	and there you'd be, shining brightly

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo guys :) I was going to apologize for taking so long to write this and then I realized it hasn't been that long, lol. It was hard to concentrate, so I felt like I was taking longer. It's taken me two months to update before, but I think this series jumpstarted something in my brain? Who knows! I also just graduated (6/4) so...that milestone made the week feel weird. I have no concept of time! Weee!
> 
> **Please heed the tags and stay safe!**
> 
> **Title is from[Hollow](https://youtu.be/op59nu5sIwk).**
> 
> Edit 6/6: Went back and tweaked the timeline. Cloud was recovering for one (1) week. Oops o-o

The door slams so hard it shakes the hinges. Cloud staggers down the stairs, one hand gripping his head and the other trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. It flows over the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. He’s too busy trying to breathe through the excruciating pain cleaving his skull to care much about the ruined gauze. His breath catches as blood starts to drip down his throat.

_We’re friends, right?_

Pitch black hair. Blue-green eyes of a SOLDIER. 

_I’d never do that to you._

So, so much pain.

Cloud's boots drag along the floor as he hobbles to Stargazer Heights. Fury and guilt war in his chest, building a burning lump in his throat. He’s angry at them all for assuming something so severe about him. They didn’t know shit about what it’s like to be a SOLDIER. They mistook his practicality as a cry for help - and Cloud doesn’t need help. He has proved that he can survive on his own. That's not a sign of weakness. And he doesn’t need therapy because he isn’t _broken_.

Cloud survived the death of his mother and the destruction of his hometown alone. He fought Sephiroth and survived. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t remember how aside from when he was stabbed with Masamune. The point is that he didn’t have anyone’s help when he used Sephiroth's blade against him even while it was impaled in his body.

He did that alone. And he can do this alone. 

Cloud makes it to Stargazer Heights despite the all-encompassing pain. It feels as though an ax is embedding itself in his skull. Marle is outside and she says something to him but he doesn’t understand and doesn’t care about whatever she has to say. He flat-out ignores her in favor of making his way up the stairs. It’s more than likely she’s just worried about him, but even as the pain is beginning to dial down on its own, he feels sick and just wants to lie down. Not sick in the way he did with the infection - that was physical. His stomach turns at the thought of everyone putting their heads together to try and figure out why Cloud is a freak. Kids did that when he was young because he didn’t talk much. He didn’t think it would happen again, especially not with Tifa involved this time. 

His knee has healed well but it still protests a fair amount as he makes his way up the steps. The ligaments are still tender, twinging even as he tries not to lean his full weight on the injured joint. His thuds clumsily up the metal stairs, body angled forward, his right hand covered in blood. At least his nose has stopped bleeding. 

The pain is at a manageable level by the time he reaches the second floor. Now that he can think clearly, Cloud stops dead in his tracks. He reaches out blindly and grabs a hold of the railing as his head swims. Without the unfathomable pain in his head, he finally registers that his memory had been jogged by what Wedge said. The words ' _we're friends, right'_ reminded him of someone. Someone he can’t remember.

Cloud shakes his head and closes the distance to his door. He stumbles inside like a drunk and kicks the door closed, hastily locking it, and then collapses onto the bed. His body is exhausted and has no problem reminding him of that. And yet, Cloud keeps his eyes open, straining to stay awake. Someone important is missing from his memory. He doesn’t know how he’s forgotten them, doesn’t know what they look like, but he can vaguely grasp one thing: how they sound. Trying to remember them is very much like trying to remember a dream. The harder he thinks about it, the more the memory dissolves, until all that he’s left with is an echo of their voice. 

Masculine, familiar, and incredibly comforting. Not unlike a spot of sun on a cloudy day. He holds onto that tidbit of information, refusing to let go of this tiny hint of someone he once knew. Cloud rolls onto his side and stares at the wall, his eyes beginning to close against his will. He is disconcerted by the fact that there could be even more people he has forgotten. He wonders why his amnesia has taken specific people. It has been years since his mother died but he can still picture her face. He has no photographs of her, so there’s bound to be some things off about his memory, but he has yet to forget what she looked like. Surely, there’s room in his memory for the man he can’t remember. One day, he thinks as he drifts asleep, he’ll have more than just the cadence of the man’s voice and the shade of blue his eyes hold.

.

.

.

The sun has set by the time Cloud wakes up. He had rested as best he could despite the stress clenched in his neck and shoulders. His back is a mess of knots that make themselves known as he sits up, head feeling stuffed full of cotton. Even though he may as well have _blinked_ given how tired he still is, there is too much to be done. The plate may or may not drop in a few weeks and he hasn’t been helping at all. The others are capable, sure, but Cloud needs to get back to pulling his weight. He hasn’t been taking any jobs, either, not that it’s his current priority, but it goes to show how useless he's been lately. As much as he feels guilty about leaving the slums to fend for themselves for a week, there won’t be anyone left to help if the plate is dropped.

First things first, Cloud needs a shower. Tifa wouldn’t let him leave Seventh Heaven even after he woke up properly, so he hasn’t washed up in a while. His hair is a gross mess and after sweating for a week straight, he doesn’t exactly smell nice. At least he can walk to the bathroom on his own. His dignity took a heavy blow when Barret had to carry him the other day, but it’s easier to push the memory away now that he can get undressed without much trouble. 

The lukewarm spray is heavenly. Cloud has never indulged in a shower like today. He breathes in the smell of the soap as he lathers it on, washes his hair thoroughly, and almost laments having to turn the water off. Though the soap, water pressure, and heat are subpar, there’s something relieving about a nice shower. The grime of the last few days has been scrubbed clean. He can move on.

As long as he ignores the irritating mix of guilt and betrayal burrowed in his chest.

Cloud tosses the dirty clothes in his trunk to be washed some other day. His SOLDIER uniform had been pretty much destroyed by the fall, so he had to get new clothes. Tifa had done him the favor of swinging by Wall Market and buying him some essentials. Cloud has already paid her back for the pair of shorts, pants, and couple of shirts she bought him. He tosses on the pants, which closely resemble the loose pants of his uniform, and a long-sleeve black shirt, happy to hide his bandages. Then he pulls his belt around his waist and secures the straps around his shoulders.

The Buster Sword was left in his room when Cloud was sick but, at his insistence, was brought to Seventh Heaven. The others had protested at first when he swung it onto his back on the third day after waking up. Feeling it click onto the magnetic holder helped calm his nerves somewhat despite the others thinking he was still too weak to hold it. No one was going to wrestle him for it, though, so he was able to bring it with him after the confrontation.

He pulls it off the wall and gives it a couple of swings. His strength isn’t completely back yet but he has finally recovered enough to wield his sword. It doesn’t matter if Cloud could lift it, to be honest. He can’t stand letting the sword out of his sight. Something about it goes past his need to be armed at all times. Though it’s just a sword, he can’t help but think of it as something precious. Not that he’d ever tell anyone that - he’s a SOLDIER, he should be impartial and practical, not sentimental over a sword. Cloud _is_ practical. Needing his sword close doesn’t make him a freak. Prioritizing his friends’ lives doesn’t make him suicidal.

Cloud slides the sword into its place a little harder than necessary. The weight grounds him, reminds him of his goal. He needs to search for leads on Shinra’s plans or at least get rid of the monsters around the slums, not sit around wallowing in petty feelings.

As he goes to open the door, his boot slides over a piece of paper. Bending down to grab it hurts every creaking joint. He flips it over and sees his name written in Tifa’s loopy handwriting. He unfolds it.

_Cloud,_

_I came by earlier. I hope you were sleeping well. I understand if you weren’t. Please come to the bar soon. I’m sorry I sprang that on you. It wasn’t my intention. Can we talk about this?_

_Tifa_

There’s no time to talk. He’s wasted enough time already. It will just have to wait until the deadline for the plate drop, maybe even longer if the residents of the Sector 7 slums need help evacuating and settling down somewhere else. He’s not postponing it because he can’t stand the idea of laying his (non-existent) emotional baggage out for everyone to pick through. He’s postponing it because he’s needed elsewhere. There are more important things than this whole mess.

He doesn’t have any leads to check out. There hasn’t been even a whisper of a rumor among the slums, no evidence plateside, and the only place left to look is Shinra itself. It’s not possible to simply let themselves into a Shinra meeting, so Cloud can’t do anything but keep an eye out on the ground level. Don Corneo’s lackeys had nothing to say when Barret pointed his gun in their faces the other day, and it’s not like they have a shred of loyalty for the man, not since his fortune was seized by Shinra.

Maybe he should check on Aerith first, then. It couldn’t hurt to take some time to think through more evacuation routes and ways to help people relocate. Helping people with a few odd jobs is a way to network, something Cloud would usually hate, and the more connections he has, the more information he has access to. Plus, he can usually count on getting some favors in return, though he never had the intention to cash in on those before now. Gil payments are enough for him, but he supposes the extra help from the community is payment in a different form. 

Cloud sets off for Sector 5 with that in mind. He takes the long way out of Sector 7 so that he avoids walking right past Seventh Heaven. Just in case anyone is sitting out there.

His knee is still bothering him, so he makes his way to the nearest Chocobo station and tosses the handler some gil. As he’s lowering himself onto the bench, trying not to get too frustrated at the aching of his muscles, he realizes something. Aerith hadn’t been at Seventh Heaven when the disaster of a conversation happened. Cloud wonders if she had left early on purpose to avoid it. Maybe she had disagreed with everyone else. Maybe she would side with Cloud this time. Aerith is fairly enigmatic, and even though she thinks he tries too hard to be stoic and, in her words, brooding, she might think everyone else is being illogical. 

Okay, so he’s grasping for straws. That much is clear, even to Cloud. But he refuses to think that _everyone_ was talking about his supposed mental instability behind his back.

It’s partly the idea of having no say in the matter as Tifa and the others theorize about the state of his mental health. They might think he’s helpless now, too, or that he can’t handle going on missions. Barret said it outright: they think Cloud is a danger to himself, so how long is it until they think he’s a danger to them? _Again_? Their apprehension about him was justified at first. They hired an ex-SOLDIER with next to no information on him. It’s no wonder Barret thought he was constantly on the brink of attacking them or giving them up to Shinra. Now, though, he’s come to respect them and, begrudgingly, enjoy their company...sometimes. They may think he’s a threat again. Tifa would try to convince him to see a therapist or some other waste of time. And that might be what bothers him the most. That Tifa, Barret, Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie, people who had seen him as competent, may start to think he’s useless. If Cloud can’t earn his place on missions, then there’s no reason to hire him. Avalanche wouldn’t need him around anymore. 

He would have to spend his days as a mercenary, finding cats for little girls and taking down wererats. It’s not like Cloud knows how to do anything else but swing his sword. He left the village at fifteen and now he’s--

Static explodes in his ears, bringing with it a tide of pain. It floods through his skull. He clutches his head and waits for it to fade away. He's sick of stepping on mental landmines, not knowing which memory, or lack thereof, would bring an explosive headache. He should have known that this train of thought would make his head hurt. Cloud only knows how old he is and what year it is thanks to the train schedule. He hadn’t wanted to ask Tifa and worry her. He had left Niblheim at fifteen and now he’s twenty-one. Six years had passed and he can’t remember them at all. His temples pound dangerously, reminding him to move on before the headache gets worse.

The point is, Cloud doesn’t have any job experience. There’s not much work on the ground floor, either. Mostly menial jobs like selling goods or basic labor. Perhaps it’s not such a bleak situation compared to others' misfortune. Cloud doesn’t mind the idea of traveling the slums and lending a hand here or there. It's not the worst job out there, compared to people that have to resort to fighting for money. He doesn’t want to end up fighting in the colosseum like some rabid dog. He doesn’t want to wait tables for the rest of his life until he dies of rapid cellular regeneration. Mercenary work is not so bad.

He just wishes he hadn’t gotten used to the idea of working with Avalanche.

Cloud leans back and rests his head on the wall of the carriage. The Chocobo gives a jovial _kwek_. It’s no use to think of the future when there’s so much to worry about the present. He needs to make sure Aerith got home safely.

Eventually, the Chocobo comes to a stop at the stable on the outskirts of the slums. He climbs out of the carriage and gives the handler a nod in thanks. Passing by the children's secret hideout, he listens for a moment and is happy to note the silence. The night is no time for kids to play, not with the monsters that get bolder once the sun sets. He drifts through the slums, raising a hand to the occasional resident, recognizing a few people he’s helped.

The rays of moonlight that make it to the ground wash out the colors. Cloud isn’t one to wax poetic about the beauty of the world, since he doesn’t think about things like that, and if he does ponder aesthetics, the word 'ethereal' rarely comes to mind. And yet, he remembers waking up in the church with Aerith’s face floating above him. Those flowers were the first he’d seen in years. The light filtering through the hole in the church ceiling had made Aerith glow. 'Ethereal' is the only word that could describe it.

Now, the slums glow with a weaker light. But it’s there. Bouncing softly off of scrap metal and settling like fog at his feet. He lets it guide him to Aerith’s home, passing the Leaf House, heart swelling against his will at the thought of the kids who’ll be playing in that building tomorrow morning. 

The slums had looked nice in the moonlight but they have nothing on Aerith’s home. The light sparkles on the water and clings to the flowers as they sway in the gentle breeze. In the midst of the garden on the other side of the tiny lake, Aerith is the brightest thing among the flowers.

Cloud follows the path toward her. “Hey,” he calls, trying not to startle her.

“Hm?” Aerith looks up, her face splitting into a grin when she sees him. “Cloud! What are you doing here?” She scowls goodnaturedly. “I don’t think you should be traveling yet, mister.” She stands and dusts herself off, brushing the dirt from her yellow dress. This one is shorter, ending just below her knee. 

“I’m fine. I wanted to check you made it home.” He climbs the small hill and joins her at the flower bed. “I’ve slept enough.” Looking over the flowers, he asks, “Have they told you anything today?”

She smiles down at her flowers fondly. “Nope.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she turns to him, the fondness on her face growing, “Maybe.”

He blushes slightly at the attention. Then, he remembers his other goal for tonight and feels the heat fade from his face. “I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Shoot.”

Crossing his arms, he shifts his weight, hating that his heart has started to speed up. “You don’t think I’m...” He searches for a word that’s less severe, not wanting to overstate things. “...Too reckless, do you?”

Aerith thinks for a long moment, her face serious. “I assume Tifa tried to talk to you about what happened in the warehouse, right?”

“Yes. But she didn’t need to.”

“Cloud,” she says, “She did that because she cares about you. We all do. It’s not exactly that you’re reckless. It’s that you clearly don’t care about your safety if it means protecting someone else.”

Cloud feels his face fall. Feels it become stony and closed off. He looks away. “I thought you’d be rational.”

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, m’kay? I get that it’s a lot.”

His chest fills with buzzing anxiety. Aerith wouldn’t root for him if the others started thinking he was too unstable to keep around. Cloud turns around and steps away from her. “Fine.” He starts to stalk away before her hand curls around his bicep. 

“Wait, Cloud. Where are you going?”

“To get a drink,” he grunts. The touch had been unexpected and only served to further sour his mood. Aerith didn’t tend to set off his fight-or-flight but he doesn’t want to stick around knowing that she agrees with everyone else’s assessment of him, knowing what she thinks of him. 

“I’ll come with you.” Aerith lets go and steps in line with him. “I’m sorry I don’t have the answer you wanted, but you were badly injured and now you’re going to get drunk at Wall Market, I assume. So, I’m going with you whether you like it or not because I care about you.”

Some of the anxiety smooths over. “Fine.”

She nods and then runs into the house to tell her mother she’s going out. He waits at the tunnel leading back out to the slums. It’s not the worst thing in the world to have a drinking buddy, even if Aerith doesn’t drink. To be honest, he had expected that she would agree with the others. It’s not surprising that she does. Perhaps it’s not so hard to look her in the eye, though, because she hadn’t outright said the word ‘suicidal’. She's not treating him like he's made of glass.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. He shouldn’t care so much about something that’s more or less out of his control. People will think whatever they want about him. His feelings of betrayal and shame are trivial and will only serve to distract him. Cloud inhales slowly through his nose and exhales through his mouth, acknowledging the useless emotions and stomping them into nonexistence. He rolls his shoulders and relaxes his expression into one of neutrality. Tonight is an opportunity to get some of his independence back and keep an ear out in Wall Market. He’ll have a quick drink with Aerith and show that he very much has his head firmly on his shoulders and he doesn’t need to be watched around the clock. 

“How about we visit Andrea? The Honeybee Inn has top-notch alcohol.” Aerith tilts her head to try to catch his gaze. "Well, according to the Honeybee Inn."

“I’m just going to the bar. No need to waste time at the show.”

“It’s not a waste of time,” She exclaims, “Andrea helped us save Tifa and it’s rude not to come around when we’re in town!” 

_I cannot argue with her anymore,_ he thinks. She’s too tenacious. It's a bigger waste of time than the show. “Fine,” he says again. “Why not.”

.

.

.

From the moment they walk up to Honeybee Inn, the Honey workers swarm them. The Honeygirl waiting just inside the lobby squeals when she sees them and immediately tugs him and Aerith through the curtains. She tells them that they’re just in time for the show and that, thanks to Andrea, they need not pay the entrance fee. 

Cloud pulls his arm out of her grasp, gritting his teeth when she starts giggling about his muscles. Aerith beams at the workers and laughs along. They’re then led to the front table. It’s reserved for VIPs every night and, apparently, he and Aerith count as VIPs. 

A Honeyboy drags a silky hand over Cloud’s shoulder as they sit and he asks, “What would you like tonight, handsome?”

He leans away from the contact, planting both elbows on the table. “Whiskey, neat.”

The Honeyboy gives him a wink and promises to be back soon with his drink. Aerith orders some sort of sweet virgin cocktail while he stares at the table, trying not to attract the attention of any more workers. They're all checking him out with next to no shame and then twittering about it to their friends. Aerith, too, has been noticed, but she doesn’t seem to mind the attention. The Honeyboy comes back with his whiskey quickly. He sets it down in front of Cloud with a coy look.

“Enjoy.” He blushes and strides away toward the other workers. 

The last of the dim lights are extinguished soon after. Cloud takes a long sip, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders dissolve as the warmth hits his stomach. Aerith sips her pink cocktail through a curly straw, spinning the tiny umbrella around between two fingers. The curtains rise and reveal the dancers, who stand perfectly still together. The stage lights turn on just as the music does, filling the room with upbeat music. 

He has to admit, the dancers do their job well. They move skillfully, breath and body matched to the rhythm of the music, spinning and floating like real bees. Cloud hasn’t ever seen a _real_ bee in his life, of course, but the school books have plenty of illustrations of the insects poised on top of flowers. Now, the dancers jump in pairs, landing in their partners’ arms as if they were always meant to be there. 

At the height of the music, Andrea is revealed, just as graceful as he was the first time Cloud watched him dance. He has an impressive stage presence. The lights aren’t completely centered on him, but they may as well be. Most of the crowd is watching him and him alone. 

Cloud glances over at a waitress Honeygirl and waves her over, ordering another drink. He’d gotten two fingers to start with but the mako has made him quite the heavyweight. He orders three fingers of whiskey this time. Looking over, he sees Aerith having the time of her life, only halfway through her cocktail. She cheers on the dancers and hollers for Andrea, grinning wildly. 

Maybe it’s not so bad that they had a detour. There are no leads for him to follow, no trace of information to find, not even in a crowded place like Wall Market. At least this way he can keep Aerith safe near him, have a drink, and talk with Andrea. The Queen Bee might know something or perhaps have heard some rumors somehow, what with his many workers, patrons, and connections. Cloud doesn’t mind saying hello, either. Aerith was right - he was instrumental in helping Tifa. It wouldn’t hurt to show a bit of gratitude. People don’t often do good things for free in the slums, much less Wall Market. 

The Honeygirl comes back with his drink. Shortly after, the show ends. The lights are turned back on and workers come waltzing through crowds of adoring fans. Cloud takes his time with his drink, listening to Aerith gush about how good the show was.

More Honey workers lavish attention on them. Two sit on either side of Aerith and Cloud while two more hover around their shoulders, leaning seductively over the cushions. Some of them are bold enough to caress his shoulders or arms but they don’t push it farther than that. Cloud doesn’t exactly like the contact, but they’re all so harmless that it doesn’t bother him too much. Their hands are soft and manicured. It doesn’t hurt and, after a while, he stops expecting it to when they touch him. 

“Feeling better?” Aerith asks hopefully.

_Yes,_ he thinks, _Just a bit_. Instead of saying so, he sits back against the plush backrest and downs the last of his whiskey. He shrugs. “Sure.” He's sure Aerith can see that he's less tense, so confirming that would only make her smug.

The whiskey is sitting nicely in his stomach and he has a buzz going. That, he thinks, is greatly contributing to his not shooing the workers away. Their presence would be much more annoying if he were sober. As is, he can’t think of any outstanding reason to have them leave. It’s their job, after all, and he shouldn't stop them from earning some gil.

“Cloud, my dear, what in the world could be making you feel under the weather?” A voice asks out of nowhere. Andrea glides down the stage steps and comes up to their table, not a drop of sweat on him or his clothes. He isn’t wearing shoes tonight, and this time he wears a floral sheer black shirt, a soft yellow boa, and a pair of golden-yellow pants that hook around his feet. Andrea nods at the workers, who then get up from the table. They wave goodbye and blow kisses to Andrea. He slides into the booth beside Cloud.

“Just a few bumps and bruises,” Cloud says. No need to worry him. It is true in a way since his wounds have healed enough that he’s just a bit stiff. 

“That is a lie,” Aerith sing-songs. “Cloud got injured pretty badly a week ago, and then he got sick. He couldn’t even walk until yesterday.”

Cloud turns to look at her, irate, ready to tell her off. But he spots Andrea’s face. Concern is written on his handsome features, softening them.

“Dear, me. And you came all this way? You must be exhausted. How about I book you the Honeysuite? You can rest up there. It’s fully stocked with drinks and snacks and you can have a full meal delivered.” 

Andrea’s offer is convenient. Cloud doesn’t want to ride all the way back to Sector 7, not with his body aching as much as it does. He doesn’t want to bump into anyone, especially not Tifa, not after ignoring- er, _postposing_ her request to talk. And, on top of that, he hadn’t expected the impact of his blood loss on his alcohol tolerance. He’s edging into the 'tipsy' territory. All he wants is to lie down, sleep it off, and get up early to work somehow. It would be a bad idea to go back with Aerith since her mother doesn’t like him very much. Still, though, he doesn’t want to intrude. The suite sounds too fancy for him. They probably make a lot of money off of it, but Andrea wouldn’t charge him for this.

“I…”

“Of course, that sounds wonderful, Andrea. I do have to go home, though, or else my mother will worry. Thank you so much.” Aerith pats his hand and they exchange knowing smiles before she turns to him. “I’ll tell Tifa if you don’t sleep tonight.”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

.

.

.

After paying for their drinks, despite Andrea’s protests, and paying for Aerith’s Chocobo ride back home, he and Andrea ride the elevator up to the suite. There are only three floors, but it would make sense that they installed an elevator so that high-profile customers didn’t need to take the stairs. Ascending the elevator, though only a few floors, makes his stomach swoop. The whiskey he drank was hitting harder than it should, but it’s no surprise given Cloud is bouncing back from a lot of blood loss and he didn’t eat anything except an early breakfast. He’s not drunk by any means, but it is annoying that he overshot it, even by such a slim margin. 

Then they get to the suite, and Andrea offers some Honeywine - otherwise known as mead. He pours a glass out, showing off the golden color that stays true even outside of the gold, bee wing-patterned bottle, and hands it to Cloud to try it.

“Ours isn’t as strong as it could be,” Andrea tells him, “Since it’s to set the mood, more than anything else. It’s good, right? Downright delectable.” He watches Cloud swallow a sip and then takes it back. "Care for a glass?"

“It's sweet.” He wouldn’t usually go for a drink this sweet, but he trusts Andrea’s taste. 

Andrea takes that as a confirmation. He turns around to pour another glass before corking the bottle and putting it away at the bar. The suite has a huge bed that stretches from one wall to the middle of the room. It also has a fully stocked snack and drink bar, with high-class liquors, peanuts, and sweets. There’s a closet that he assumes has some robes in there. And possibly other items he has no interest in. They sit on a velvet yellow chaise, with Andrea leaning against the single armrest. He calls down to the lobby to get them a meal delivered.

Cloud savors the mead, for once enjoying a flavorful drink. He knows mixing drinks isn’t a good idea, but it was very easy to convince himself that one more drink couldn’t hurt. Definitely not more than a piece of rebar through the chest. He almost laughs at the thought, oddly enough. Despite the drink being weaker than it could be, he feels a bit of heat in his cheeks. Well, he did expect the alcohol to hit harder, so he shouldn't be surprised. Cloud ignores the fact that he could build a bad drinking habit very easily and decides to focus on his drink.

When the food arrives, they lean over the table and eat together, exchanging small talk. Cloud would usually not bother with small talk, but there’s something engaging about the way Andrea does it. Evidently, his charisma extends to the rest of his life, and it makes talking much easier than normal. Cloud always struggles to find something to talk about, but somehow, Andrea makes it enjoyable. Certainly, the mead helps, too.

Afterward, they sit in companionable silence until Andrea shifts, plucking the boa from his neck and hooking it over the chaise. Then he sets the empty glass on the coffee table and yawns, still managing to look elegant. He asks, “Need anything else, darling? Any aches or pains I could help with?” Andrea tucks his feet up on the couch. “I’m no Madam M, but I can still get all that nasty tension out of your shoulders.”

_Wait_ , Cloud thinks. _Massage as in…?_ His cheeks are definitely beet red now. 

Andrea suddenly laughs. “Oh, Cloud, I don’t mean like _that_. Purely platonically, dear. I would never suggest something like that to someone intoxicated. The rules are always ‘safe, sane, and consensual’.” He pats Cloud’s hand. “I didn’t mean to laugh, but the look on your face was just so adorable.”

He’s not sure when he crossed over from tipsy to somewhat drunk, but at this point, he’s almost too far to feel embarrassed. Almost. Cloud ducks his head and sees that he has already finished his drink. _Not sure when that happened, either_. “No, thank you.”

“Alright.” Andrea unfolds his legs and stands, nimble and neat. “I will have to take my leave now, though it always pains me to go. It was lovely seeing you, Cloud.” He reaches down and gently grabs Cloud’s hand - the one he injured when he punched the mirror. “Whatever you need, I’m here. And I’m sure your friends are, too.” Then, he leans down and presses a kiss to Cloud’s hand, lingering for a moment, before pulling away. 

“Thank you,” he says again. 

Cloud looks down at the mostly-healed cuts on his hand as Andrea boards the elevator. He shakes his head. Mixing drinks while he isn’t at full strength turned out to be a bad idea. He needs to take a shower and drink some water before he falls asleep. Hangovers don’t last long with his mako-enhanced metabolism but they’re still unpleasant. Though all he wants to do is shut his eyes and conk out on the chaise, Cloud lurches to his feet and trudges to the bathroom to take a shower.

The suite shower, much like the rest of the room, has spared no expense. The water comes out hot and, amazingly, it doesn’t smell like sulfur. Cloud stands under the spray longer than he usually would, reveling in the feeling of steaming water on his aching muscles. The soap and shampoo smell like lemons. It doesn't sting as the soap washes over his remaining stitches. The wounds on his chest and back are almost fully healed. The laceration on his arm is but a scar. While his knee is still sore, his shoulder doesn't bother him much anymore. Cloud takes comfort in this - he can start to put the whole mess behind him.

He dries off with a fluffy towel and grabs a pair of pajama pants from the closet, not bothering with a shirt. Cloud glances at the Buster Sword leaning against the wall, taking comfort in its presence as he sits. His head feels clearer after drinking as much water as he could stomach. He’s still fairly tipsy, so Cloud finds himself stroking the soft sheets absentmindedly, blinking slowly. The huge, honey-comb shaped bed is incredibly inviting. He leans back and rests his head on the pillow. His eyes are already heavy with the drink in his system. As he slides his legs under the silky sheets, he feels his consciousness slipping away rapidly. Like a little kid after a long day, Cloud falls asleep seconds after his head hits the pillow. 

.

.

.

On a good night, Cloud gets around six hours of sleep. He goes to sleep late and wakes up early naturally - if you count a learned instinct as natural - and most nights he wakes up every few hours. If he’s lucky, he can fall back asleep. But there are plenty of nights he falls asleep at midnight, wakes up at four, and is too restless to stay in bed. Those nights he’s lucky to get four hours of sleep. 

This morning was no exception, even after drinking. Cloud woke as the sun rose, which means he slept for five hours. Not bad. He takes advantage of the luxurious shower once more, then changes back into his clothes and heads down to the lobby. Even sober he doesn’t enjoy being in an elevator.

The Honeybee Inn doesn’t open for several hours, so he has to find a worker to unlock the doors for him. He wants to give Andrea his thanks again, but the man is surely fast asleep, so he settles for getting him some sort of gift in the future. After all, he let Cloud sleep in the most expensive room in the Inn for no charge. He’ll have to do that some other day, though, because first, he needs to check on Aerith again. It’s repetitive and possibly annoying of him, but he just can't ignore the part of his brain asking 'what if...'. Chances are she made it back perfectly safe to her home. But he still needs to make sure. 

He passes up the Chocobo ride and instead decides to warm up by jogging the distance to Sector 5. The few, weak monsters along the way are also good for loosening up his body. With his enhanced metabolism, his body breaks down alcohol faster, which also means a shorter hangover, if he ever gets one. Though he doesn’t feel any trace of a headache, it’s a good idea to warm up. There are mostly hedgehog pies and wererats and they yield to his blade so easily, he doesn’t break a sweat. It’s still satisfying to go through the motions and know he has complete control over his body. 

It takes him about an hour to arrive at the slums and, as soon as one of the kids spots him, is surrounded by a swarm of tiny children. They call his name, trying to get his attention, but it’s hard to focus on fifteen different kids at the same time. 

“Cloud! Can you teach us some cool sword moves?”

“No, no, help us decorate the fort with the flowers Aerith is picking!”

“Those are for the Leaf House, Sophie!”

Cloud holds his hands up placatingly. “Sorry, I’m, uh, here to help Aerith. I can’t play right now. Some other day.” It’s not technically a lie since he owes it to Aerith after bitching at her last night. Especially because she didn’t get pissed at him. No, she guided him away from a pathetic night of drinking alone and managed to make him feel better. He has to thank her, and if that means picking flowers again, then so be it.

The kids all groan in disappointment but are understanding all the same. Slum kids don’t take things for granted, after all, and aren’t able to be spoiled. So none of them ever demand things from adults. That’s why they have their hideout, why they’re awake so early - to keep out of the adults’ way. He’ll just have to make up for it some other day. He seems to be building up debt all over the place. People help him, save his life, keep his morale intact, and for what? 

He sighs, brushing the thought away. He can’t help anyone if he’s standing around, wallowing in self-pity. Cloud makes his way to Aerith’s home, glancing through the windows of the Leaf House. Ms. Folia spots him and waves at him. He raises a hand in greeting. 

Passing into the cove is like stepping through to a different world. The grass and flowers are lush, so full of life. He spots Aerith in the same garden that they picked flowers in before, kneeling peacefully, carefully deliberating over which blossom is best for the Leaf House’s decoration. This time, she notices him before he calls out.

“Hi!” She waves him over. “Here to make sure I got home safe again? What a gentleman.” Aerith gestures for him to crouch down. “Mind helping me with these again?”

“Sure.” Cloud agrees easily. 

“Okay, then how about you pick those?” She points to the white flowers. “I’ve got these covered.” 

He nods, repositioning himself, careful with the Buster Sword. Cloud stares down at the flowers and begins to pick them, wondering just how Aerith got them to bloom so well. They’re the healthiest plants he’s ever seen. It makes sense that she could manage something even in a place like Midgar when he considers who she is as a person. Aerith handles everything with a delicate touch - plants, people, even monsters. She tempers her kindness with a steadfast determination, making her a real threat, regardless of how incredibly soft she looks. It’s funny how well that part of her is reflected in her wardrobe, too. She pairs a well-loved, bright red jacket with different summer dresses and never fails to wear those worn boots. Aerith has the face of an innocent, beautiful girl, but it’s obvious she’s not afraid to get dirty, as shown by mud splattered on her boots.

He’s lucky to have fallen through the church, lucky to have landed in her flowers. She had looked at him with the same fondness as when she did her flowers. Cloud isn’t good enough to be compared to her ‘babies’. Aerith, much like Tifa, is pure. She’s kept her humanity intact despite her circumstances. Much like Marlene, who is so bright, he can hardly stand to be in the same room. He shouldn’t be so close to her. His boots are splattered with blood, and his hands, no matter how many times he scrubs them, will always bear the evidence of his despicable actions. The weight of his sword on his back is comforting and, at the same time, a reminder of the responsibility he bears. Cloud chose this road - the one that leaves him without a peaceful life. He gave up the chance to settle down, and in turn, was saddled with the duty of bearing the filth of the world. If only to keep his girls clean. Jessie, Wedge, Biggs, they all deserve the same, but he knows they’ve seen too much already. The one saving grace he can think of is that they have Barret to look over them. Though he’s harsh and loud, he watches over them like a father. Barret, too, acts as a shield. But he does a much better job of balancing both sides.

Cloud is stuck. He has one mode. He can maim and kill, destroy things, but he can’t fix them. In that way, he's leaving that for others to do. And he hates himself for it.

“Can I ask you something?” Aerith’s voice rings out, stopping his thoughts. Cloud realizes he’s been clutching the same white flower in his hand for a few minutes. Its sap has begun to leak out its half-crushed stem.

Blinking, he clears his throat. Slowly, he says, “Go ahead.”

“Why do you think you don’t deserve any help?”

The question sinks in like a strike to the solar plexus.

“I don’t need it.” _What type of question is that?_ “I...shouldn’t. Need any, I mean.” 

“Everyone needs help. And everyone deserves it.” Aerith puts her flowers in her basket. Then she repositions herself to sit facing him. “I needed your help picking flowers, so I asked for some. Even though I’m a florist.” 

Cloud does the same, pivoting so he faces her, readjusting the Buster Sword. “It’s not the same. I trained as a SOLDIER. I was First Class. Shouldn’t need any help. That’s why I was hired in the first place.” He’s skilled enough to fight armies. His body was morphed into something inhuman so that he could go into battle alone and _win_. And yet.

“Let me put it this way,” Aerith says, “All lives, they have innate value. From the moment you’re born. We all come from the lifestream and we all return to it - we all have equal value. People stumble, and they get hurt, and they deserve to be helped and saved. And, not _despite_ that, but _because_ of that, people have so much worth. You, me, Tifa, my mother, we all have worth.” Aerith doesn’t stumble, doesn’t mince her words. She sounds as sure as if she were reading facts from a textbook. As if this knowledge was embedded in her from the day she was born. “I don’t know what has made you think you’re not worth it.”

He thinks about it. About why what Aerith is saying feels wrong when it comes to him. Cloud agrees with most of it, up until she tries to argue he falls into the same category. “You’re different.” He struggles to put his thoughts into words. They flit through his mind, many of them hidden in his subconscious, but they’re all screaming at him that Aerith is wrong. “Maybe I was equal when I was born. But then I went to Shinra and willingly mutated my body with mako. From that moment, I wasn’t the same as you. I’ve killed people. And forgotten them.” The black hair and blue eyes flash through his mind, bringing with it that familiar headache and static. He scowls through it, desperate to get his point across. “I only joined Avalanche for the money, not to save the planet. Tifa, Barret, everyone - they did it because they wanted to. I’m not good at anything other than hurting people.” He puts the half-crushed flower down on the path, watching the sap leak out. He can’t look up, can’t risk looking her in the eyes. Can’t risk finding that she’s finally realized he’s worthless. “That’s not always a bad thing. I can protect you. I don’t deserve help because I gave that up when I bathed in the mako. I can’t have a normal life because I was a SOLDIER. That was my choice.” His voice is starting to shake. Cloud clenches his fists against the anxiety in his chest. He hates talking this much, hates how vulnerable he is but Aerith needs to understand that she shouldn’t waste her time with him. For her sake.

Aerith cocks her head, thinking for a moment. “Would you think so low of me if I killed someone? Or charged someone for my flowers? If I joined Shinra when I was a child because I thought it was the best way to change the world?” 

“What? No- but it’s _different_ . You’re not...” _You’re not like me_.

Aerith tilts his chin up. Her eyes fill with tears but her voice doesn’t waver. “No, it’s not, Cloud. You are _not_ intrinsically deserving of pain or suffering. You will always, always deserve to extend the same kindness to yourself. You don’t need to apologize for just existing. I’m so sorry you ever thought you did.”

How could she have found just the right words? It’s like she heard the question in Cloud’s mind, one that even he hasn’t been able to articulate. _Do I really deserve to live?_ After his home was burned to the ground, after his innocent mother was killed. Why did Cloud live, and not her? His head pounds fiercely. _Why did I survive?_ He failed. He doesn’t deserve kindness or forgiveness, not like the others.

Cloud strives for perfection. But he is an imperfect, wretched being. His lip starts to tremble and he whispers, “I do. I do because it’s me.”

She cups his face in both hands, holding him like he’s something pure. “You are good and kind and gentle, and so, so strong. But you don’t need to be, Cloud. You can be human because you are one. I love you regardless.” Then she folds him into her arms, placing a hand on the back of his head, and squeezing him tight. 

Hot tears stream down his cheeks, big drops rolling off his chin. He curls his trembling arms around Aerith. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Cloud lets himself cry. His chest heaves in great, shuddering sobs, and he gasps, trying to catch his breath as an excruciating knot in his chest begins to unravel. It’s been there for years. Calcifying. Becoming a malignant tumor that he didn’t dare acknowledge. He feels it loosen and realizes it’s been choking him. Cloud hasn’t been cured of it, really, but it’s so much easier to breathe now, even as shudders through his sobs. 

Aerith brushes her hand through his hair, a point of warmth and strength as he tries to put himself back together. They sit for an indefinite amount of time. He isn’t counting the minutes. He just breathes. And Aerith lets him, even though her jacket is covered in his tears. 

  
  


Eventually, he cries himself out, and embarrassment sets in. He tucks his arms in and tries to dry his face. 

“Here,” Aerith hands him a pale green handkerchief. “How about I get you a glass of water?” 

Cloud looks up from the handkerchief, searching her face for pity. Her expression is open and honest, and all he finds is compassion. It still makes it hard to look her in the eye. His first instinct is to reject it. “Alright,” he says hoarsely.

He stands and pulls her to her feet, then follows behind her as she beckons him inside the house. Elmyra isn’t in the kitchen, thankfully. He doesn’t _dislike_ the woman but he doesn’t want anyone else seeing him, not after bawling his eyes out like a child. Aerith pours him a glass of water. He drinks it quickly, hoping to leave before her mother comes downstairs.

“Can I get you anything else? Do you maybe want to keep talking?”

“No, thanks.” Cloud places the glass in her sink. “Do we have enough flowers for the Leaf House?” He almost winces at his clumsy attempt to change the topic.

She hums, her gaze searching for something in his features. “Not quite. Just a few more bundles and then we can deliver them.” 

Cloud is grateful that she wordlessly accepted his need to get on with the day. He doesn’t need to be coddled, and would much rather get back to business as usual, at least until he’s ready to deal with what they talked about. Aerith doesn’t fight him on it. He nods and follows her again to the garden. 

They sit and pick more flowers, quietly appreciating the earthy smell and cool breeze. The air is warm at this time of day. Cloud finishes picking what he guesses is the last flower they need and turns around to put the bundle in the basket.

“Hey, Cloud.”

_Please don’t ask anything else I seriously can’t handle another heavy conversation_ , he thinks desperately. “Uh, yeah?”

“Can I tell you something? Like, about me. And Tifa.” Looking over, he sees Aerith is blushing a bit, but she looks ecstatic for some reason.

“Oh, sure.” Judging by the dreamy look on her face, he might just know what Aerith is about to tell him.

“I thought it was a good time to tell you since we’re bonding today. You cry on my shoulder, I tell you I like Tifa, I think it’s a good trade.” Aerith shrugs, unable to keep back the grin on her face.

He flushes at the mention of his crying. “Right.” Cloud isn’t surprised, not really. They’ve been getting pretty close. He didn’t have much to do but sleep when he was sick, but when he was awake, sometimes he’d catch glimpses of Tifa and Aerith sitting together. They looked happy. That, and they flirted an ungodly amount in the sewers. “That’s nice.” There’s not much to say. It _is_ nice that they like each other. “Are you dating yet?”

Aerith shakes her head. “Nope. Haven't asked her out yet.”

He likes the idea of his two best friends dating. They’re good for each other. Suddenly, he wonders when it became so easy to think of them as his friends. Especially when he still doesn’t think he deserves them. 

Aerith hops to her feet, bending down to grab her basket. “Let’s get these to the Leaf House. Then, maybe we can go to Seventh Heaven?”

Cloud stands and brushes the dirt from his pants. He doesn’t particularly want to go to the bar yet, but there’s no use avoiding it anymore. It’s juvenile, sneaking around the slums so he doesn’t have to face the others. Better to salvage his dignity and get it over with. Maybe he can convince them he isn’t a basket case. Plus, he’s been thinking of ambushing a Shinra officer to ask him about the plate. Chances are the lower ranks don’t know shit, but he wants to cover his bases. “Alright.”

.

.

.

They drop the flowers off. This time, Ms. Folia and the children will decorate the building themselves, as a treat for the well-behaved kids. They beg Cloud to stay and play with them, and it’s hard to say no, but the longer he thinks about it, the longer he realizes he needs to apologize to Tifa. She had just been trying to help because she was concerned. So, he promises the kids he’ll be back in a few weeks. Best not tell them he’ll be back next week, because he might die, or he might be busy helping the Sector 7 residents after the wreckage. Hopefully neither.

He and Aerith take a Chocobo ride to Sector 7. Along the way, Aerith asks him how his injuries are doing and what happened after she left. He waves away her concerns, assuring her that he’s almost back to full strength, and reluctantly explains the fight. She winces sympathetically.

“To be honest, I wanted to yell at you, too. Not that I would actually do that. And I don’t think Tifa had expected the others to be around.”

“I overreacted, though. Tifa thinks- er...she just wanted to help.” He was about to say that Tifa _thinks_ he needs help, but Aerith’s sharp look stopped him. “I’ll apologize and then we can have a real talk.”

After that, Aerith tries to pry out some advice about taking Tifa out on a date, but he doesn’t know the first thing about dates. Regardless, she continues to pester him, even when he starts to give her terrible advice. She brushes it off and keeps trying to bounce ideas off of him up until the Chocobo gets to the station. 

The bar is open, though there isn’t anyone in there since it’s still the afternoon. Cloud steps through the doorway. Tifa is wiping down the counter when she looks up. She perks up as she registers his presence.

“Cloud, Aerith,” she says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Hey.” Cloud stops at the counter, feeling sheepish. “I'm sorry about yesterday. I overreacted. It wasn’t fair of me.” Apologizing isn’t so hard, as he isn’t one to have his pride get in the way. He wants to avoid admitting that he doesn’t think Tifa has anything to be worried about. Though he understands what Aerith was saying, she can’t change his mind in the course of a day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks she’s right, but that whispering voice is overwhelmed by the much louder voice telling him he’s worthless.

Tifa sets her towel down and puts the cup away hurriedly. “I’m sorry, too. I really didn’t mean for it to turn out like that. I’m just worried about you, Cloud.” He spreads his arms as an invitation for a hug and is relieved when she accepts. His guilt eases as soon as she slots herself in his arms.

The three of them go to sit at the table. Aerith, sitting across from them, says, “Y’know, we can’t force you to do anything. So how about instead of trying to do that, we come to an agreement? You’ve got to let us help you, even if you don’t think you deserve it.”

He considers her words, turning the idea over in his mind. Tifa leans her head on her fist and waits, listening.

“I don’t…” He trails off, not knowing how to phrase his issue with that. “First of all, I’m supposed to be protecting you. Bodyguard, remember? And our promise?” They both flinch at that, for some reason. “Helping me on missions, that’ll put you in danger. It’s not smart. I’m an ex-SOLDIER, I can take more hits.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should.” Tifa tries.

“It absolutely does.”

“The problem with that,” Aerith interrupts, “Is that you’re biased, in a way. Against yourself. So, considering that, your opinion of yourself is not to be trusted.” Aerith spreads her hands, overly content with her explanation.

Cloud feels a headache coming on and it’s not because of his amnesia. “Okay, let’s say I accept. How would you say you help me without endangering yourself?”

“Rule number one is you have to tell us when you’re hurt.”

Tifa nods enthusiastically. “Don’t try to patch yourself up anymore or sleep it off. And don’t _ever_ prioritize us over your survival anymore. You can’t do that anymore, okay? You’re not alone anymore, so you can’t act like it. We care about you and none of us want to see you hurt like that again, especially if you don’t ask for help.” Her voice is stern, though waterlogged with emotion. 

“Right,” Aerith nods decidedly. “Don’t take us for granted! We can take care of ourselves, too. You know that firsthand.” Then she takes his hand and looks him in the eye. “You may not believe me right now, but you’re worth it. And we won’t stop until you get it.”

Cloud sighs. Admittedly, he’s still reeling from getting told that someone cares about him. He’s kind of breathless, actually. “Yeah, I know. I know. Thanks.” Gods, he wants to cry again, but he can’t handle crying twice in one day, much less in front of _two_ people. “Alright. That...that's not bad. But know that I’m still going to protect you above all else.”

Tifa smirks goodnaturedly at him. Her face has softened, the lines of worry mostly gone. “We’ll do the same, then. Right, Aerith?”

“Right!

.

.

.

The sun sets. He, Aerith, and Tifa share a meal and have a drink together. Eventually, the others come to gather at Seventh Heaven. Cloud takes the opportunity to apologize for losing his temper. Wedge, Jessie, and Biggs insist that they were at fault for bombarding him, but he does his best to assure them he doesn’t blame them. Barret stares him down, grunts _sorry_ , and confirms with Tifa and Aerith that he won't be doing something that stupid again.

Cloud feels more solid now. He’s steadier. Though he’s still drifting, Aerith and Tifa’s words act as an anchor. Not because it’s weighing him down, but because he isn't floating so far from them now. Slowly, inch by inch, Cloud feels himself being pulled back down to Earth. And he’s starting to think that it’s not so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself cry, lol. What Aerith said is true, by the way! Show yourself the same kindness you show others. You deserve it. 
> 
> Here's sort of what I was thinking for Andrea's [shirt](https://images.prod.meredith.com/product/878f9a9e9b25322189a0809733dc6815/1566597748839/l/soft-surroundings-lean-line-ponte-stirrup-pants-black-xs-2-4) (but not a button up) and [pants](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/713uYajK5EL._AC_UX342_.jpg) (except looser around the thighs and yellow). Also sort of the [pants](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/360569513920569536/) I was thinking of for Cloud. I feel like a madman desperately trying to get ppl to understand my incomprehensible fashion gibberish 🙊
> 
> I hope this was a satisfying sequel, it was very important to me to get the garden scene right. You can absolutely talk to me about it in the comments or on my [Tumblr](https://james-writes-occasionally.tumblr.com/), or just send me a keysmash, or whatever! My ask box/DMs are open. I love hearing from you guys!!


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